Stereo Love
by VacantExpression
Summary: Sometimes it's in the going , but most often in the coming. Better if it's both .
1. Chapter 1

_Say my Name [ Destiny's Child – Cyril Hahn Remix ]_

_The photographs and the crockery next._ You check off an item on the sticky note buzzing around your head and re-read it for a time. Again. All the breakables would be going in one of the bigger boxes in the front to make room for the Cushioning Charm.

You've already moved over the huge, old rug that you'd gotten on sale at The House of Oz, the one with the much loved Floo-ey shoe prints of your friends and all the people that had ever made it over to visit. It was supposed to charm the stains out of itself and for the most part, did an alright job of it.

The bedrooms were stripped of your things and they looked really _naked._ Most of the clutter was yours; books, candles, paintings and chewed-down quills. Stationery and more books, work folders and memos, the telly and most of the kitchenware.

You hear a snap and step into the second bedroom- cum -office. The bags were shutting themselves, some of them straining and you wonder at all of the clothing that you'd never seen before. You kind of had a uniform - thing going and some of the jazzier pieces embarrassed you into remembering your age._ Well, that's all of the clothing._ The green memo is snapping around your head and you check off yet another item.

The door creaks a little and Ron is standing in there with his arms across his chest, mouth hard and eyes soft. You swallow convulsively and spin away from him, fussing with one of the charmed latches on your luggage.

'' You were fast,'' his throat swallows around the words and they come out wet and thick. But still bitter.

You breathe a little faster and try to control your temper. '' Yes, well. No point in sticking around.''

'' Right. '' And you can tell he regrets the words, which surprises you considering that he's not really the regretful type. He's the _happy - go - lucky, smooth - everything - over - with - a - joke _type and you still love him even though you're only 19 and _had no business finding your life - partner at that age._ The recriminating voice sounds like your mother's and you shudder a little. You wished that she were here. You needed to ignore her advice in person and feel no guilt about it.

Harry was going to be painfully diplomatic about it, or he'd try. You didn't need that. You wanted him to choose you and that was selfish but you didn't care.

You were up last night in - between dreams of nets and the Burrow and someone spinning you way too fast. Everyone leaving you to fall.

* * *

_'' - just other people. You know, we're young and this - '' he gestured between the two of you, '' - this scares me''.His hands wound in his hair and he sat back into the sofa , breathing slow and deep . _

_Your arms were gripping the arms of the chair across him. '' Right. '' _

_The tears came slowly, wrung out from your stony countenance and maybe the emptiness in your chest was heart - shaped. You brought a finger to your mouth and massacred the nub of nail left. All while trying to swallow your tears and not drown in them._

_Ron's head was leaned against the back of the sofa and his mouth quivered. His face was wet when he met your eye. _

_Guilt. Expected, except that he looked at you pityingly and you knew ..._

_'' Who is she? '' You tried not to choke but you always prided yourself on getting those answers so you soldiered on. '' Do I know her? '' _

_'' Please, don't. '' He got up and fuck him for running even though this was his shitstorm and you were the one that had to pack up and leave. _

_You sprang up and chucked the mug of luke warm tea at the Cannons poster by the desk. The cracks in the wall showing against the milky droplets of Ceylon. You'd never noticed the cracks before._

* * *

_High for This [ Ellie Goulding Cover ]_

'' Hermione _fucking _Granger '', Ginny always bellows when she's drunk. You think it's from all those brothers barreling into each other, shutting each other up, screaming and shouting just to be heard above _the house sounds, the people sounds, the magic sounds_ in the Burrow. She's even louder than the gramophone you've got on.

But right now, the last thing you need is your ex's sister hovering at your second-storey window on the deathtrap she calls a broom, in the middle of the night, sloshed out of her mind and demanding to be let in. You turn over in your bed and hope that she buys the act. You snuggle deeper into the sheets and calm your breathing. You should have drawn the curtains. The tears come hot and slow down your face, salt into your mouth before you can stop it. An itch at your tear duct.

Just _fuck her and fuck everybody._

But then the intolerable banshee starts banging on the window hard enough for the panes to rattle as if you lived above a train station. Ginny casts a Lumos, but bigger, brighter, the kind they use to focus in on the lion act in a circus. You shut your eyes tighter.

'' Wake up, you pathetic excuse for a –'' . Your wand is at her throat before you realise that you're out of bed and on your balcony in nothing but your knickers in flippin' December.

'' Don't you dare finish that sentence you – '' But Ginny is grinning madly, wildly as she slaps your wand out of your hand, the light of her wand still blinding you, and kisses you on the mouth. And God, you're hungry, starving, really and you didn't even know. You, who held yourself above it all. You didn't know.

You didn't know anything.

She tastes like whiskey and cinnamon. Firewhiskey. Her tongue is insistent from the first, hot and probing, not even letting you get used to the invasion after months and months of being alone. She swipes against your teeth and nuzzles your nose. Her eyelash tickles your cheek.

She bites your lip, and that scares you. How much you like it, how much the slight tang of her drunken desperation and your _plain old desperation_ don't bother you one bit. Your hands fist in her hair and you tug a little, her chest against yours, the wand in her hand still blinding you. You close your eyes and all you see is the pulsing of light starbright, and Gryffindor red.

Her lips are firm and tight against your own, you move your head too fast and your noses crash into each other, it burns and stings and your air supply is compromised. Compromised. That's a funny word, isn't it?

You laugh into her lips, into the vacuum that is not feeling anything but need. Your feet are freezing but your torso isn't. You nibble on Ginny's lower lip and she sighs hot, hot heat into the scant space between your mouths.

You're gonna draw yourself a bath with Firewhiskey in the water when you're done here.

Ginny disengages her hands from your shoulder and cups the back of your neck, pulling you forward into her. Slowly, she drags the hand down your neck, squeezing and your breath shudders. Rasps in your throat.

'' There,'' she says, taking your face between her hands. The one coming down to join the other. Gently, gently as soft as a mother's might.

'' Who knew you could kiss like that eh, Granger?''

Just.

Just _fuck her and fuck everybody._


	2. Chapter 2

_Afraid [ The Neighbourhood ]_

You're on the toilet seat, knees to your chest in the steam of the bathroom watching Ginny. She's in the old, scuffed bathtub, claw-footed and heavy, picking petals off daisies that she's conjuring as quickly as she's massacring them. Her toes peep out of the scented water as she stretches against the ends of the tub. She smiles languidly at the ceiling.

'' Do you, uh ...'' Your voice is raspy and you start rocking back and forth on your throne. ''Gin.'' You say it so softly that she doesn't even hear.

''Gin, why are you here?'' You bring your thumb nail to your mouth, the edge bleeding and raw, you think better of it and lave the abused flesh instead of biting at it.

Her eyes clear as she turns to you. Her drunkenness seems to be condensing with the water that's turning your hair frizzy. She's frazzled you, pushed you towards something like panic. Your mind is whirring and your feet are cold once more. You can map out all the things wrong with this situation in your head. You're still rocking yourself when she answers.

''Harry's, uh, he's…'' Ginny's hands flap in the water, petals drowning in the maelstrom. You startle into action, almost sliding on the smooth, damp tile. You're at the side of the tub in moments, in a small puddle watching Ginny ugly-cry into the water.

Ginny swallows and swallows, her neck straining with the effort of it all. The vein in her forehead throbs and she turns this terrible, blotchy pink. Startling on her freckled face.

_Can no one….Oh, my God. What is loyalty even? Do men just…_

''Harry's more in love with my mother than he is with me.''

That knocks the wind out of your sails. Totally. The girl in the tub starts giggling through her sobs. Her breaths are coming fast, her hands still whirling at the water in front of her.

Your first instinct is to placate, say that's not true. That's _deranged._ He would never sacrifice Ginny's happiness just to fit the mould of some _white-picket fenced _suburbian house where dreams go to die just so he gets to have the security of… Okay. Okay. You breathe through your nose.

'' Why are you _here_?'' Your voice is soft. Hard.

'' I'm here for a little bit of validation.'' Bold as brass, Ginny Weasley. _Weasley._ Weasley. Was there an emotional range that the Weasley's bottomed out at? Is this a family thing? She smiles and splashes some of the lavender water at you. Your forehead creases. She guffaws, her face and eyes still red and pained.

'' Well, I just got dumped by _Ronald Weasley _of all people. Asking for validation from _me _is honestly pathetic.''

'' Let's be slobs, not cook for days at a time, I dunno….Let's have a fight that I know you'll get over because I'm _allowed _to be pissed off with you without my mother running damage-control.''

'' Gin, you can't just _cheat_ on your boyfriend everytime he…'' The words get stuck in your throat and you swallow over a hard lump before you're able to start again. '' You can't just cheat on him when he makes you angry.''

'' Yup , just like that Granger .''

And yet, her eyes are pleading. _Don't kick me out. Listen. Just listen. I'm 18 and really fucking stupid. And the boy I love is even stupider. All the boys we love are stupider._

'' You're a headcase,'' you snap and the earnest expression on your face just makes her laugh- cry even harder.

* * *

_Electric Glow [ Tritonal ]_

It's Wednesday evening and you cannot believe you thought this was a good idea. After you, Harry and Ron were on the run all those months you never wanted to look at another mushroom again. Never fetch water from a river, never sit outside in the cold. You did not even want to hear the sound the zipper on a tent makes.

Luna is absently stirring the iron pot over the fire with her wand while watching the stars above your head. Murmuring to herself, cheeks red in the cold, her handsome furry Russian hat slightly too big, falling into her eyes on occasion.

Ginny is puttering around the campsite, feeding the fire clumsily with her thick leather gloves as soon as it burns too low under Luna's breezy attentions, rolling her eyes fondly when she catches your eye.

Ron would've loved it here. He liked camping, he loved being around people, especially girls that weren't you, evidently. You snort softly.

'' There's 7.5 _billion _people on Earth. And even more stars, '' she says breathy-voiced, eyes focused above your head still.

Your arms drop to your sides and Luna's soft voice regales you with the stories of the constellations. You knew them all, ofcourse. But it was nice. Hearing a voice that wasn't your own.

* * *

A/N : I'm here for a little bit of validation.


	3. Chapter 3

_My Hometown [ Adele ]_

You're teaching Ginny how to ride a bicycle and for someone who flies like she was born to it, the earth-bound apparatus flummoxes her. She gives up around five minutes into the lesson after a skid on the pavement, with the bike falling on its side with Ginny's leg beneath it. The short jagged wound bright and angry against her milky flesh.

Worse yet are the girl's barely-there cycling shorts. Her knees are turning a blushy shade of red and her fingers, blue. It seems that Ginny, like most Magicals, did not consider that anything Muggle could be remotely dangerous. Just odd or insane.

'' You're freezing. Get back on to get your blood flowing.''

You pedal on, keeping pace with her while she walks beside her bike, hoping that she catches a few tips on the push-pull movement before totally giving up on your teachings. Your parents' old neighbourhood is nice this time of year. The breeze crisp and fresh, like green apples and breaking leaves. Two Muggle boys, cute in a _my dad's the Dean of a college_ way are jogging in the lane opposing you and Ginny, both making eyes at the other to give Ginny's bum an ogle. Pigs.

'' These are death-traps, Granger. I mean it. Look at the pedals and these poky _bits_. Who the heck decided- ''

'' You cannot tell me that being airborne is safer than this. On a piece of wood, Gin. Like, from a 100 plus feet up. '' You roll your eyes and she rolls hers back. You both bring the bikes to a stop.

'' Yes, well we have cushioning charms on the pitches so nobody dies a horrible death, you know, '' she says as she pokes at the scab on her knee.

'' I happen to know that your balance is excellent, Weasley.'' Heat suffuses your face as she looks up, wriggles her eyebrows, both so far up her forehead that they get lost in her bangs.

'' Do you now?''

''And besides,'' you soldier on. '' Harry fell off his broom in Second _and _Third Year and I didn't see anything remotely cushioned about that.'' You always got snippy when embarrassed.

Ginny smiles and points her wand at her knee. ''Harry was victim to every Death Eater alive at the time, dear,'' she says patiently. '' Besides, Malfoy and his lot probably… I dunno… deactivated the safety charms. Not to mention , Dobby -''

'' That's ridiculous. Malfoy?! He wouldn't know how to –''

'' Would you say there's a book for everything? Or a place you could go to if you needed to know something? A place that dispenses _valuable _information legal or otherwise.'' Ginny is smirking now and you're sure that your face is redder than before. You've never doubted that there was a book for everything, anything, the unthinkable even. Like magic.

'' Besides,'' she says. '' House Elves work magic almost elemental in strength and purity. They're basically servile conduits.'' She holds up her hand before you're able to form a word against the thought. '' More like servants of Magic, itself rather than….-'' she waves her hand dismissively, '' I dunno, servants of Men.''

Ginny laughs as you huff and it strikes you how much she looks like Ron. How much she's not like Ron at all.

That night you dream of Ginny teaching you to fly just after your Mum strapped your old kneepads, the really banged up ones you used to learn to skate with, on your knees telling you to _''be careful, dear. Boys only want one thing. You have to stay safe. You have to protect yourself.''_

* * *

You're in your kitchen at twilight, paging through a pigwash _girly mag _article titled ''10 Things He Hates About You''. Ginny went back to the Burrow ages ago, the crazy girl braving the chill air on a broom of all things. You hadn't connected the Floo to the house, you doubted that you ever would. If you did, that meant that the telly would stop working, that the toast would jam in the toaster, the washing machine would stop spinning and when your parents came back….. When your parents came back, they wouldn't like any of those new developments, never mind a head popping up in the fire at any old time of the day.

The kettle whistles, releasing a cloud of ordered steam against the window, the telephone rings almost jumping off the receiver and Crooks starts meowing furiously at the nature show on the telly playing quietly in the background. When it rains….

You dash the phone off the hook and answer while pouring into your Mum's old mug.

'' Hello?''

'' Hermione?! Thank, God.'' Harry blusters on the other side of the line. And he was the last person you expected to call even though he was the only person that would use a Muggle telephone to call. And your fingers are burning before you realised that you didn't stop pouring and the scalding water is overflowing on the counter while the crick in your neck is making your shoulder muscles bunch right to the top of your arm. And, dear God. It's Harry.

'' Yes, it's me.'' It came out slightly unsure. You didn't know what to say or where to start. And with Harry. Dear, insensitive, irreverent, brash _young-old _Harry.

'' Hermione?'' And now he's unsure. The question in his voice inviting you to map it all out for him. Since you and Ron broke up, it got harder and harder to pick up a quill until you'd put it off for a month. Then a month more. And then the whole of winter. You'd ignored Harry's owls until the message was clear.

What the message was, you weren't even totally sure. But it mostly felt like _pick me, pick me _wrapped up in a grudgy, bitter run, away from your other best friend. And fear. It felt like fear.

To save the world, you'd always hedge your bets on Harry Potter. But to save yourself, you'd always relied on Hermione Granger. And books. Because there were books about everything. Especially the unthinkable. Like healing.


	4. Chapter 4

_Sunflower – Swae Lee, Post Malone_

You're out in the garden, hair afrizz, blue kerchief tied over your mouth and nose when he finds you. The air is dry and the soil, red dust. Your eyes smart as you blink furiously into the face of Harry Potter. He's at your side on his knees, black jeans covered in sand and he seems to have whatever the hell your garden is in his eyes too.

'' Busy little House Elf, eh Hermione.'' His voice is soft. Unreal.

Your ire rises. _ House elf jokes?_

He smiles and you shake off the nerves. The guilt. About ending it with Ron, and consequently Harry. About not returning his owls. About slamming the phone down on him when you couldn't find anything to say.

About _Ginny_.

Well, maybe you couldn't shake that off. Ever. But you're pragmatic, after all. You can't pine over Ron forever. His sister not being the ideal suitor, and yet… There you were, turning your life into some sordid _soap opera_. All you needed next was to have George's baby, wait 18 years and then find out it was Fred's ghost [ brought back by Molly's grief ] that impregnated you instead. Your findings courtesy of a magic Will ofcourse, written by the Pasha of Pranks himself.

'' Hermione? Why are you smiling like that?'' Harry's perplexed. The laughter bubbles out of you. Soft and breathy at first, then big and ridiculous.

Like your life.

'' Come on, I'll make some tea.'' You're pulling the gloves off before Harry can quite make sense of you but he stands and follows you nevertheless.

''- and God, the time,'' Harry is red with mirth, gasping for breath,''- the time I lost all the bones in my arm thanks to… to Lockhart.'' The old oak chair at your parent's table creaks as he shifts his weight. Crooks is on the table, valiantly attempting a sip of Harry's milky tea.

And looking back, it wasn't _that _funny. It was scary, dangerous, bonkers_. Exciting_. But that was Harry all over.

'' Yes, yes. I remember. Especially how you never let me forget that_ Lockhart _did that. One of my first -''

'' Your first crush,'' he finishes.

'' No, one of my _first_ crushes, '' you correct. You sip your tea and wait for the ball to drop.

Harry looks at you suspiciously. '' Your first wasn't Malfoy was it? Because that would be-''

'' No, give me some credit for God's sake. Look a little higher up on the food chain.'' You laugh at his puzzlement and dawning realisation.

'' God, Riddle? Was is Tom Riddle?''

'' No, tosser.'' You fling the tea towel at him. '' It was Lucius Malfoy.''

'' Well, the man's got great hair atleast,'' he says as he tugs at the curl on the side of your face.

Crooks jumps on the counter causing the short drapes at the window to flutter. Harry squints at the sudden glare and the soft wrinkles at his mouth eyes and forehead startle you. But even more startling is the open smile on his face. _Young-old _Harry.

And you wonder why you thought that this would be so difficult.

It shouldn't be this_ easy_.

You feel the smile melting into a frown. You look at Crooks' shadow on the table.

Harry raps his knuckles on the top of your hand.

'' Hermione.'' You smile weakly, ravaging the nail on your thumb.

'' Hermione, don't.''

And you freeze up. Ron tells you that. _ Told you that._

He sighs. '' Come, on, I'll wash up.''

He moves to take your cup but stops midway.

He tugs at your arm instead, pulling you up out of the chair. He murmurs something softly, you don't catch it and the stereo in the front room starts a song with a little crackle.

You're about to reprimand him. He knows it. The magic will mess with your Dad's sound system for days to come. Harry smiles his goofy smile and you roll your eyes.

He walks you around the table and then you're swaying. Both of you, so out of sync with the music that you can't help but snort at his long, awkward steps outwards and hasty steps towards you. You're not much better. You crash into each other. You stomp on his foot and he turns you unexpectedly. He laughs at your missteps, you at his. Both in sync with each other atleast. Like something that should be in a book, something from a movie.

He turns again, radiant in the light. So brilliant and beautiful that you can't bear to look at him.

A/N: What are you guy's listening to?


	5. Chapter 5

_Melt My Heart To Stone [ Adele ]_

'' – lost my third pair of sneakers and another pair of earmuffs, the one my Dad got from Siberia. Somewhere in the wild. I liked them, they smelled like star-''

''Luna,'' you say. And even though you interrupted her mid-sentence, which you absolutely _hate _ especially when its done to you, she doesn't even raise an eyebrow. And you hate that even more because that means she knew you weren't listening _or_ she's not used to being listened to.

The words stick in your throat. You had a question. One of those wishy-washy questions that you'd leave to Trelawney or someone of that nature and the stunning guilt you feel as her _old, old _eyes look at you.

And she even looks anticipatory. You think she's holding her breath. Every time you came to visit, and it had been almost weekly since Ginny last brought you, you let her talk and talk. Her mellow dreamy voice something between a narcotic and sleeping pill. You had no idea what she spoke about, but still.

You look down into your cup and stir again. It's a great cup of tea. You tell her so.

The Game Keeper's cottage is a lot less ramshackle than it used to be. Hagrid's clumsy repairs are all but gone and in their place is magic, sparkly clean. Like marble. Like Luna.

''Luna. The earmuffs. What did they smell like?'' It's important now. She might be telling you something. You weren't one to attach importance to possessions as such. But you disturbed her narrative. Encroached on her story.

Your throat is tightening and the smooth muscles become a smooth fist and you can barely breathe for the pain. The words aren't coming out. You want to yell at her._ Continue. Don't you dare let me drown you out. Talk over me. Talk to me._

She doesn't even blink as the tears stream down your face. You feel hot and cold all at once. This girl is never startled by you. But then, she's never startled by anybody.

It starts raining outside and her voice mingles with the heavy beat of the rain on her cottage.

She's winding down some utterly deranged story about lightning, some streamers and fae when she stops mid-sentence. Your head snaps up.

''That question you had. I'd like you to ask me. Earlier, when I was telling you about the earmuffs. What was it?''

''No,no. I … I don't think it was anything. I mean, I don't know how to ask it. How to condense it in…It's downright impractical to ask.'' You blush, because now you don't even know how to ask people questions. You, the eternal student.

'' Which means its likely not to be found in a book.'' She scratches her chin while she says it. Her eyes going glassy, pupils dilated like she's thinking of everything. The whole damned universe.

And you're flattered. You still mean something in this World. The Magical World.

You let out a watery giggle. She's so earnest. You'll listen to her more. You promise yourself.

'' My parents…. Do you, uh. Do you think they'll forgive me? I mean, my Dad. I told you before. He's uh..-'' your throat is too tight and you feel your lip quiver like a child's.

-'' he's a bit older than Mum. The charm, the Memory Charm, it degenerated some of his melanocytes.'' Luna looks at you oddly. Like you're speaking a language she hadn't even heard of. Which was fair.

Your father was suffering early-onset Parkinson's. He was only forty - seven. Mungo's couldn't prove that the magic accelerated the disease. But you were sure. Forty- seven with Parkinson's.

'' He's suffering from…a disease that the charm likely accelerated. It's usually seen in the sixth decade. Mostly males.'' It's your hospital voice. Just like the doctors told you. Like the books and the specialists. Magic and Muggle.

She's laying out her cards while you sob. The rain beating a little bit harder on the new roof.

_Wrap My Words Around You [ Daniel Bedingfield ] _

Ginny's swinging her legs on your kitchen counter by the time you get home. Crooks is patrolling the perimeter of the kitchen, casting Ginny adoring glances all the while, you suspect it's got to do with bribery on both ends, but he makes sure to stay away from the window to the far left of the room. That one leaks a bit and you hadn't yet found the time or energy to repair it.

And you're tired. So fucking tired, so your raised brow makes your head ache a little.

''Do you never feel cold, Gin?'' The redhead laughs, shaking her head.

She has cut-offs on, with frayed ends and some sort of crop top. You didn't even know that the Wizarding World's unspoken bend towards modesty allowed this sort of thing.

'' You were crying.'' She says, frowning only a little. Her hands flutter against your cheek. Slowly, as if not to startle you. Not to scare you away.

You hadn't been touched by anyone like this in a long time. Not since the day she pitched up at your house in the howling rain and plunged herself into your small little life.

There were chances. A thousand _thousand. _But they felt young and too raw. Too much.

You close your eyes and breathe her in. Her hand is massaging your neck, bringing your lips closer to hers. And that niggling in your mind. The voice that used to scream now whispers. The one telling you that she's only on the rebound. She's just here to soothe her Weasley ego and her Gryffindor Pride.

That she's here to break Harry's heart. But you're a little under the weather. Your life is in shambles. And this girl. She smells like Luna's earmuffs, probably.


End file.
